Chapter 1

This Is Just Sorta An Introduction. . . .

I like the smell of mint and fresh cut grass. I like the taste of hot tea. I like the feel of silk and velvet. I like the sound of rain hitting pavement and of bacon sizzling in a frying pan.

I never like what I see, though. It's always the exact same. Darkness. Genevieve tells me it's called "black." She says there are other colors, too; vivid ones that I could never imagine. Blues and reds and yellows and greens and purples.

I don't ever remember seeing. I don't remember colors. All of my memories are those of sounds and smells and feels and tastes. I'm lacking one of the most important senses.

Genevieve always told me she was jealous of my eyes. She says that, despite us being twins, I have gorgeous eyes that she says are a perfect mixture of the colors blue and green. This means nothing to me.

Neither does the fact that our hair is precisely the same honey-blonde color or that we have the same slight build. All I know is black.

Genevieve is patient with me, though. She teaches me what she can. I remember her tapping either side of my face, teaching me left and right. Or her describing to me what Nagina, our cat, looks like. She said Nagina is black, too, like my vision. I bet she's the ugliest cat ever if that's the case.

She describes Mother's clothes, and Father's wand. Of course, we don't see either of them much. They're busy, though they won't tell us with what. The Wheeler family, you see, is very prestigious. Our whole family has been in the house of Salazar Slytherin. And our blood is completely pure.

And, in a short week's time, Genevieve and I would be heading off to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and placed in Slytherin, like all of our ancestors.

We really don't know many people. There is a boy a couple of years younger than us, Draco Malfoy. But neither Genevieve nor I like him very much. He's rude and arrogant and snobby, like most pureblood families. And he's downright nasty to his poor house elf, Dobby.

Genevieve is the bold one. I'm frightened sometimes that she'll be placed in Gryffindor, and I'll be in Slytherin, and Mother and Father will be terribly disappointed, and I won't have anyone to help me.

Of course, I've been reading for ages. I can read Braille easily. I tried to teach Genevieve once. She can read a little bit, but not much. She prefers to read the books for people who can read.

Even I know Mother and Father like Genevieve better. They count upon her to make herself a life. Genevieve says that even though we are twins, we're easy to tell apart. Her eyes are full of life, while mine sit uselessly in my skull. Also, she loves to fly on brooms, so she's tan, while I'm pale.

Sometimes, when Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy comes over with Draco, Ms. Zabini comes with Blaise, and Mr. and Mrs. Flint comes with Marcus, they have games. I sit and listen to them whooping and hollering. Blaise and Draco are two years younger than Genevieve and I, and Marcus is one year older.Â We don't enjoy their company much, but we tolerate them out of politeness.

I like night best. Genevieve will lead me by the hand up to our room, help me into my nightgown, and we'll sit and talk until Mother raps on our door and tells us to go to sleep.

We aren't supposed to know this, but one time, Genevieve stumbled upon an old newspaper with Mother and Father's names in it. It says they were found guilty of helping He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named after his downfall. They were supposed to go to Azkaban, the wizard prison, but they somehow got out of it.

She immediately shoved it back where she found it and came to find me, reading a Braille version of The Fountain of Fair Fortune. She told me everything. That's what we talk about now, mostly.

But today we were going to Diagon Alley to get school supplies. I was sitting in a chair on the side of our room, brushing out my curls while Genevieve rummaged through our closet for presentable clothes.

She decided on sundresses and helped me into mine and braided my hair down my back before putting on her own.Â I waited patiently as she got ready.

"Girls, we need to leave soon! Your father can't come; he has to go to the Ministry with Lucius," Mother yelled up the stairs. Lucius was Draco's father. He and Father worked together in the Ministry of Magic.

"We're coming!" Genevieve called. "Evelyn, will you tie this bow in my hair?" she asked me, thrusting a ribbon in my hair. She grabbed my hand and placed it on her hair, which she had tied in a thick ponytail.

"Of course," I said softly. I had experience, so I could pull my hair into ponytails and tie ribbons and such. "What color am I wearing?"

"Light green. It brings out your eyes, and it will show everyone that we'll be in Slytherin, like the rest of the Wheelers."

"What color are you wearing?"

"A darker green."

I didn't understand how one colors could have more than one shade. I tried to envision some color in my wand, but all that remained was black. Whenever I tried to lighten it in my mind, it didn't work.

"Genevieve, if you weren't put in Slytherin, where would you want to go?" I asked quietly.

There was a silence, which I assumed was occupied by Genevieve thinking. "Probably Ravenclaw. Mother always says Gryffindors are no good, and Hufflepuffs are sickening." Genevieve also believed everything Mother said. "Where would you want to be?"

"I always thought Hufflepuff sounded nice. Isn't that the House for loyalty and kindness and hard-working people? I think that sounds good."

Genevieve didn't say anything. She probably did some non-verbal sign - like a shrug - which never failed to irritate me.

"Come on, Mother's waiting," she said, grabbing my hand and leading me downstairs. I heard heels clicking on the hardwood downstairs. All of our manor was hardwood, mostly.

Genevieve found an odd family crest on the staircase once that wasn't our own. She asked Father about it, and he told her that it was the Lestrange crest. The house used to belong to them - Bellatrix and Rodolphus - before they were putÂ in Azkaban for helping the Dark Lord.

I do remember moving out of our old house - it wasn't nearly as big as this one. I was about two.

"Girls, we need to Apparate to Diagon Alley."

Genevieve and I groaned in perfect unison. Apparition made your ears pop and you felt like you were being squished in a tube. It was never the most pleasant feeling.

Genevieve grabbed my hands, and I felt her reluctantly clutch Mother's arm. My stomach lurched as usual, and I used Genevieve as an anchor.

I heard the usual hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley as soon as I regained my bearing. Genevieve immediately dragged me towards some store.